


L'albatros

by kivutio



Category: Kane and Feels (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Poetry, Photographs, mentions of depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24962695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kivutio/pseuds/kivutio
Summary: They both take photos to remember the good times, but they both do it a bit differently.Brutus was bolder when it came to taking pictures, his hoard steadily growing with every case.Lucifer wasn't ashamed of taking photos per se, but he preferred to keep them close to his chest, so that no-one could steal them from him._________________________A little multi-chapter fic with photography in the background.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15





	1. The hoard

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided to split this work into three parts, they will be posted every day. 
> 
> This work was written a while ago but I wasn't sure whether to post it or not, I'm not really proud of this but well. It's still better than anything I've ever posted.

As an ex-copper Brutus Feels knew just how fragile the human life could be. He looked into the strangers’ eyes and saw all the ways they could break their necks at any given moment, like slipping on an oil spill or tripping on their shoelaces. It was overwhelming, at times, to be able to almost see the end of human life when said human was standing right in front of you, very much alive and kicking. This _almost-but-not-quite_ vision of the end was wearing him down in a way he would never admit to anyone out of fear of appearing weak. It was also making him question every move, making him doubt that getting to know anyone was worth the pain it brought.

It wasn’t, most of the time. Worth it, that is.

The people he cared about could brighten his days with words and actions, yes. He would feel like he was floating when he was talking to them but _oh,_ what a terrible feeling it was to plummet downwards when everything was over.

His friends would say that _‘they were different, that_ **they** _would stay’,_ and he would believe them, happy that he had finally found someone who cared about him. He was happy just looking at their blinding light until this light disappeared, leaving him once again in the all-consuming darkness unable, or maybe unwilling to move on.

That’s how he found himself taking pictures. The feeling of keeping something after it was already gone was exhilarating, and he let it consume him. 

He bought a camera, an old and used thing, and even though he could afford something from the higher shelf, he had always preferred things that had a soul. 

The camera itself had some scratches, one could definitely tell it belonged to someone before Brutus but it was also well-taken care of. Brutus could swear there was some kind of aura emanating from it, the kind that all well-loved things had. 

He wondered what happened to the previous owner and whether they missed the camera as much as he knew he would when he will have to eventually separate from it.

He often took pictures of smiling people, people who he helped when he was a cop, and later when Lucifer Kane ran head face into his life, Brutus started taking photos of people _they both_ helped. 

When it comes to taking pictures, Brutus wasn’t the best photographer in the world, but he somehow managed to always capture people’s feelings with a press of his finger. 

On one notable occasion, a client even asked him if he would like to photograph her wedding night. He refused, of course, but it was a nice gesture nonetheless. 

His favourite, albeit unwilling subject to photograph was Lucifer Kane. The man was a beautiful enigma, with the unruly hair he claimed was purposefully arranged, his stick-and-poke tattoos, his carefully constructed devil-may-care persona. Brutus was waiting impatiently for the day he would be able to uncover all his secrets, peeling them one by one, at last getting to the core of Lucifer Kane.

***

Luce didn’t notice the picture, not for a few months, but when he did, his only comment was, “You could’ve picked any other picture, so why on Earth did you chose this one?”. 

He asked this while pointing at a photo of himself with a client. They were both half-turned and by the way the woman was grabbing Lucifer’s hand it was clear that she was thanking him. There were even tears in her eyes. That wasn’t why Brutus kept this photo, however.

Although Lucifer wasn’t looking straight into the camera, his expression was clear enough. And what an expression it was! Kane was looking so shocked and vulnerable on this photo, so raw and real. He wouldn’t usually allow himself to be seen this way, especially not by a total stranger, but he was taken by surprise.

It was Brutus’ favourite picture, not that he would ever admit it. It would take too much explaining, too many words to describe the feelings he didn't even understand himself. 

He didn’t hide his photos, though. He kept them in the open, so that anyone who managed to get into his room could see his hoard. It was all set in plain sight, all of his treasured memories put on a shelf and dusted every so often with a delicate brush of a hand.

He would sometimes look at his photos and think about how good life was when he was with Kane. It was easy to forget how easily he could lose someone when Lucifer felt so infinite, so powerful that he overflew with sparking energy like a forgotten ancient god. With Kane by his side, Brutus could see second chances where earlier he only saw misery, he caught a glimpse of hope where earlier there was none. It was liberating to bask in the presence of such a strong and beautiful soul. It was truly addicting. 

Being so close to Lucifer did come with its downsides, though. Brutus would now more often lose himself to his second sight, lose track of the tangible. He could easily forget that in real life there were no miracles.

Despite this, he felt better than ever now that he was living with Kane, which is why losing his partner felt like losing a limb. Brutus found himself choking on the responsibility for the well-being of their… _his_ clients and drowning in the loneliness of coming back to an empty flat.

It felt so empty now and not even the photos he set haphazardly in various places helped to fill the Kane-shaped hole in his heart.

He should have seen it coming, he supposed. He should have known that nothing he held dear would last, not when not even his parents wanted anything to do with him. Nothing in his life could ever last and Kane’s disappearance was just another proof of that. 

It was better to pretend he didn’t feel the bone-deep chill settle around his body again, wrapping him up like a warped jumper. He was so damn cold all the time, his frozen bones cracking with every move. 

It was easier to pretend that he wasn’t drowning again. He wasn’t sure he would be able to get to the surface this time.


	2. The hidden gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer keeps few photos in his room, and they are always well-hidden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem: ‘The Albatross’ by Charles Baudelaire from ‘The Flowers of Evil’. I know that the albatross in this poem refers to a poet but I think that the line quoted by Kane at the end fits him very well.
> 
> It's actually this poem that inspired me to write. I remembered it (I read it in high school many years ago), read it and thought of Kane. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

Lucifer wasn’t as open about taking pictures as Brutus was. He preferred to keep them close to his chest, just like everything else in his life. But every so often, when he was completely sure he was alone, that he was  _ safe _ , he would take his favourite photos out and look at them, carefully remembering the feelings connected to them.

It was a bittersweet experience, looking at these shiny pieces of paper with people printed on them. Most of the time, he took photos to have something, anything left after the good times came to an inevitable end, as they always seemed to during the least expected times. He needed photographs of the times he was content as a reminder.

But he knew that despite having a memory printed and cherished in his hand, it would never be enough for him, he was too greedy. A photograph won’t remind him of the way somebody laughed or the tone of their voice when you start to forget more than just the insignificant things.

That’s why he hid them, buried them deep inside his wardrobe, among all the other things he couldn’t force himself to throw away.

He was many things but brave was never one of them.

But he was unstoppable, he was goddamn  _ invincible  _ until the moment he wasn’t, crashing hard through the darkened sky.

Lucifer knew that he would one day fall, but he prayed to all the gods that would hear that the day would not come so fast. The prayer didn’t help much, in the end.

After it all fell apart, after he had left Brutus and ran back to the office as if there was a Hellhound hot on his heels, he threw a few important things into his suitcase and escaped into the chilly night. 

When he finally stopped, sitting on a damp bed in a dingy hotel room he opened the suitcase at last and looked at the only photo he managed to grab in his rush to get away before Brutus’ return. 

His partner’s face was blurry on the paper he was holding but Lucifer could vividly remember the day he took this particular photograph. He seldom looked at it any more, not wanting to admit the mushy emotions it made his feel. It was really unbecoming of a serious academic such as himself, really, how much a piece of paper could break him.

It was raining, when he took this photo, the both of them sitting on a settee drinking tea and smoking occasionally. Brutus sat on one end hugging a pillow while reading Baudelaire’s poetry book Lucifer got him for Christmas, completely immersed in the carefully crafted words of a French poet. He looked so focused that Lucifer couldn’t resist taking his phone out and quickly snapping a blurry photo of the scene. To have something to remember him by, when it all ends, he told himself quietly, resting his head on the arm of the settee. He stretched his legs, slowly inching closer to Brutus’ tights, on which he planned to plant his feet. The oaf, startled by the movement, took one look at Lucifer’s face, rolled his eyes and placed his partner’s feet onto his tights himself. 

“You really ought to stop doing that, Luce”, he stated, eyes still on his book.

Lucifer’s heart clenched painfully, already sure of what his partner was about to say.  _ ‘You have to stop behaving like a child’  _ was a phrase he used to often hear from his parents when he was but a young boy. It left a mark on his soul, one that he didn’t like to revisit too often.

“You know I don’t mind touching you. Just relax.”

_ Oh,  _ he thought and did just that, his body going lax while big hands of his companion were mindlessly caressing his skin. 

“Would you like me to read to you?”, asked Brutus suddenly.

Kane hummed affirmatively, too lost in the warmth his friend was emanating to utter anything more than that.

Brutus’ voice echoed in the flat when he started reading aloud one of the most famous poems from this particular book:

_ “Often, to amuse themselves, the men of a crew  _

_ Catch albatrosses, those vast sea birds  _

_ That indolently follow a ship  _

_ As it glides over the deep, briny sea.” _

When he stopped to take a breath, Lucifer hummed again and continued for him, eyes half-closed:

“ _ Scarcely have they placed them on the deck  _

_ Than these kings of the sky, clumsy, ashamed,  _

_ Pathetically let their great white wings  _

_ Drag beside them like oars.” _

It wasn’t the whole poem but Lucifer didn’t continue.

They sat in silence for a while after that, simply enjoying each other’s presence. 

“Didn’t know you read poetry.”

“You thought I would give you a book I didn’t know you’d enjoy?”, Lucifer scoffed, trying hard not to show his embarrassment. “Who do you take me for?”

Brutus’ smile was as warm as the tea he made. 

It was painful to remember this little moment between them now when he had already burned and crashed the bridges he crossed.

He stroked the photo once more before shoving it inside his suitcase, deep beneath his clothes and talismans, half-heartedly wishing he hadn’t taken it from the flat. He couldn’t bring himself to leave it behind or destroy it now, it was far too precious to him, but he had a job to do, and he could not afford any distractions.

_ “That winged voyager, how weak and gauche he is,  _

_ so beautiful before, now comic and ugly!” _

He quoted the last part of the poem, his voice barely a whisper in the cold room. He wished he could forget how it ended.


	3. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They clashed into a fiery embrace leaving scorch marks everywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is here! This chapter is very short but I didn't feel the need to write a lot, I think it shows what it needs to - the healing they did and the change in them.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed reading this short story :)

Their next meeting was a deafening crash of two broken souls longing for each other and yet unable to stay together. Brutus shouted a lot, screaming his lungs out and punching the air with his fists, trying to stop himself from doing the same to Kane. Lucifer was breathing heavily, his lips and hands equally shaky. He was desperately trying to look put together. He didn’t succeed.

They looked into each other’s eyes, later, searching for something that used to be buried there and finding it despite all that had happened. Despite the hurt they lived through since they have last seen each other.

They were cracked, like a tea service from a fine china, one that went through too many hands, but they had each other, and they knew that they wouldn’t leave the other alone again. At least not voluntarily. 

They took a photo then, their eyes red, hair a mess, their hands trembling. But they took a photograph, just the two of them, and it was perfect, for once.

When they went back to their flat, the photo they took wasn’t kept a closely guarded secret, it wasn’t even kept in a bedroom like all the others. On the contrary, it sat proudly on display on a shelf among all the trinkets and cursed things, always clean despite the dust covering the rest of the shelf.

They were proud of their smiling faces greeting everyone who entered their domain.


End file.
